


By Any Other Name

by magictrixie



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magictrixie/pseuds/magictrixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Pantyhose is the nickname given to the young girl who steals the paintings of successful women. When Neal finally meets this mystery girl, he's thrown for a loop, and made to question the things he thought he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pantyhose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my best friend Katelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+best+friend+Katelyn).



Neal looked up from his desk to see Peter giving him the double finger point, and that only meant one thing: a new case, and hopefully an interesting one. The office had been going through a dry spell lately, littered with bland mortgage fraud cases, and he was hoping that this was something that could finally shake things up. He hasn’t even gotten the chance to go undercover in over a month. He had that familiar itch under his skin that he used to get when he wanted to paint.

“What’s going on Peter?” Neal strode into the office and took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Peter had a familiar glint in his eyes and a contagious smirk on his lips.

“We have a new case,” he slammed a blue folder down in front of Neal. “Meet Peter Pantyhose.”

“Peter…Pantyhose?” Neal raised an eyebrow, a small smile gracing his features. These FBI nicknames really were getting ridiculous.

“Surfacing six years ago, Peter Pantyhose was originally known as Peter Pan,” Peter said as Neal opened the folder, revealing a picture of what appeared to be a young, brown haired boy in a standard mug shot. The name Tate Rose was printed at the top of the page.

“You arrested a thirteen year old? I can’t imagine he could make it to the White Collar unit on his own at that age.”

“Peter Pan here was nabbing wallets,” Peter smiled and crossed his arms. “He managed to nab mine, and when I caught him, I had him booked, just to scare him. That’s why we have his picture and fingerprints.”

“So Peter Pan resurfaces,” Neal looked up at Peter. “Stealing wallets?”

“Well it turns out that Peter Pan…,” Peter’s smirk widened and he turned a page in the file. “…is a woman.” A gritty security photo showed the figure of a young woman, her face expertly facing away from the camera, her hair leaving an unnatural splash of red in the picture.

“Peter Pantyhose,” Neal smiled.

“Exactly,” Peter continued. “Her fingerprint recently turned up at the scene of the stolen Vivian Del Campeso painting, during the Magic Realism exhibit.”

Neal had heard about that, of course. It was incredibly impressive. The painting ‘El Universo que Crece Dentro de Mi’ or ‘The Universe Growing Inside Me’ portrayed a young girl whose heart appeared to be exploding out of her chest. Her heart contained cities and villages, mountains and oceans, which spread out over the canvas, almost engulfing her. Del Campeso was considered one of the greatest artists of her lifetime. Neal remembered reading about the night the painting was stolen. It was there, and then it was gone, their only clue being the security photo. He had to admit, he was intrigued.

“So what do we do now?” Neal asked.

“We go to the gallery and see what we can get. A sketch would be ideal, but we know so little about Peter Pantyhose that I’ll take anything at this point.”

“You don’t know anything about her past?” Neal rubbed at his forehead. “You didn’t speak to her parents the first time you arrested her?”

“No known family,” Peter sighed. “She was raised in the system. Back when we arrested her she was with a foster family. Apparently she had quite a few of those.”

“Of course,” Neal mumbled. “Can you get any information from the adoption agency?”

“They were shut down a year after we first arrested her.”

“Right,” Neal’s eyes were glued to the picture. The woman was in a tight, black cocktail dress, her hand on her hip and her long hair over her shoulder, obscuring her face. “Now we go to the gallery and figure out what the hell is going on.”

.O.

Neal tried to keep a serious expression as Peter spoke to the art gallery’s curator, but the truth was he wanted to walk around and look at all the art. He always had a soft spot for Magic Realism, in both literature and fine arts, but he’d never mastered the skill.

“Can you provide a physical description?” Peter asked.

“Well,” the curator was a meek, young man. His hair was thinning despite the fact that he couldn’t be any older than thirty five. “She had red hair, but she wasn’t a redhead.”

“What do you mean?”

“She obviously dyed it,” the man shrugged his shoulders. “It was the color of a crayon and very, very long.”

“Right,” Peter mumbled as he took his notes. “Do you remember anything else?”

“She was short, only about five foot two, and she had brown eyes. That’s all I remember.”

“Thanks,” Peter sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “You’ve been a great help.”

Neal patted Peter on the back as they turned away from the curator and made their way outside. Berrigan and Jones were still questioning the rest of the staff.

“Well that was a bust,” Peter said as he and Neal climbed into the car.

“What now?” Neal asked.

“Now we wait to see what Diana and Clinton find out. I’m going to send a sketch artist down to talk to the curator, and when that comes back I’ll put out a BOLO on her,” Peter was stressed. His brows were furrowed and he was chewing on his lip, a sure sign that the wheels were turning and he was already planning on how to catch this girl.

“Peter Pantyhose,” Neal mumbled, turning his head as he began to smile. This is what he’d been waiting for.


	2. Basement

“Get to the office, fast,” was all Peter said before hanging up the phone. Now, as Neal stepped off of the elevator and made his way towards the conference room, he could see that Peter was stressed. He was gesturing wildly to Clinton and Diana, and repeatedly running his hands through his hair.

“What’s going on?” Neal asked as he stepped into the room.

“Peter Pantyhose strikes again,” Diana said as Peter pressed the remote to turn on the screen.

The screen showed a small painting that appeared to be a pink to green gradient. Neal recognized it immediately. Lolita McCandless was a young woman painter in the late nineteenth century. She was completely blind from birth, and created different textures in her paints to differentiate the colors. She made it so that you could not only see, but also feel her paintings, quite literally in fact.

“We need to get to the museum immediately,” Peter said. “As soon as the painting was grabbed, the entire museum was put on lockdown. With any luck, Peter Pantyhose will still be in the building.”

With that, Neal followed the group out of the room and to the cars. He had to admit, he was excited. He couldn’t help but hope that he would get to meet the mystery girl.

.O.

“I want man power in all of the storage rooms and upper levels, okay?” Peter was pacing back and forth. “Jones and Barrington, I want you to interview every single person in this building! Got it?”

“Yes boss,” Clinton and Diana said in unison before ambling off to speak to the curator and patrons.

Peter turned to face Neal. “I want you to check every entrance, windows included, to make sure there is no possible escape route.”

Neal nodded and turned away from the man, heading towards a lounge in the front of the building. The room was empty at this point, all the patrons and wait staff in the main room being questioned, so he got the chance to look around. There was a small leather couch with two fake plants on either side of it, and a small table in the middle of the room with a striped throw rug underneath it. Everything in the room was in its perfect place, nothing out of order.

Nothing except the upturned corner of the rug.

Neal walked over to the small table and moved it out of the way. He quickly pulled away the rug to reveal an unhooked latch, presumably leading into a basement.

‘Jackpot,’ he thought to himself as he lifted it open.

There was a ladder leaning against the opening. It was dusty except for the spots where hands were recently placed. Neal quickly made his way down and paused to take in his surroundings. There were boxes everywhere, and they appeared to have been there for years. They were caked with dust and webs, and stacked all the way to the ceiling. He heard noise coming out from a small doorway in the right corner of the room and ran to get through it.

He first noticed a flash of red.

Then a sharp pain in his head as something was hurled at it. He picked it up. It was…a rock.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Neal rubbed at his forehead. Well that was going to hurt in the morning.

“Um,” he began, a bit too shocked to articulate very much.

“Don’t ‘um’ me Mr. Caffrey. You think I don’t know who you are?”

Neal paused for a moment to look the woman over, and finally see the face behind the gritty security photo. She was stunning. Her hair, on its own, made her stand out. It was bright red and fell past her elbows, and she wore it loose, showing it in all its glory. Even in the dimly lit basement Neal could see how beautiful her big, brown eyes were.

“Well?” she was wearing another black cocktail dress, a different one from the security photo. It didn’t hug her figure any less. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Neal took a few steps forward, a smirk beginning to play on his lips.

“So you’re Peter Pantyhose?”

“Excuse me?” she arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“The FBI can get a little creative with their especially confusing cases,” he shrugged his shoulders and stepped so he was directly in front of the girl. He could smell perfume on her, and up close he could see that she wasn’t wearing any make up.

“Right,” her brows were furrowed now, and she was looking behind Neal, obviously trying to find the agents she assumed were hidden around the room and waiting for their cue. “I’m going to go now.”

“Now, you know I can’t let you do that,” Neal actually had no way to keep her in the room, but he was curious. He wanted to know how she’d act when she thought she was in danger of being arrested. How did she work under pressure? “It’s the end of the line for you, Ms. Rose.”

She started chuckling before setting the small purse she was holding next to the paper covered painting she left resting against the wall.

“I respect you, Mr. Caffrey, so please know that this isn’t personal,” was all she said before she slammed a hard, trained fist into the side of his head, and effectively knocking him out.

.O.  
He woke up to Peter patting his cheek.

“Damn it, Neal,” he heard muttered from above him. “Open your eyes.”

“Urgh,” he groaned out when he did finally open his eyes. Even the soft light in the basement made his head throb. The girl really clocked him one.

“What the hell happened, Caffrey?” he heard Diana shout from the other end of the room.

“Well, I met Peter Pantyhose,” he chuckled, his voice still a bit grainy from lack of use. He felt at his jacket and pockets and smiled up at Peter. “And she took my wallet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually getting hits and kudos on this! Thank you guys so much :) I really appreciate the support.


	3. Surprise

Neal didn’t get home until well after one in the morning. When they got back to the office, he drew up a sketch for Peter, who was in a much better mood at that point. They may have missed Peter Pantyhose, but now they knew what she looked like, and that was better than Peter had expected.

Neal made his way into his room, pulling off his jacket and stifling a yawn. A flash of red caught his eye.

“I was wondering when you’d get home,” Neal looked up to see Peter Pantyhose sitting on his table, smiling at him. “I have your wallet.”

Neal smirked and approached the table. He couldn’t say he was too surprised to see her. She was interesting, and new, and he liked that. She was wearing the same dress she had on at the gallery, but she had pulled her hair back.

“Peter Pantyhose,” Neal stopped in front of her. He made a point of looking her up and down.

“Don’t call me that,” she rolled her eyes and hopped off the table, standing almost chest to chest with him. “My name is Tate, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“Interesting name for a girl,” Neal tilted his head. He was really laying it on thick right now; his charming smile, looking her in the eyes, and she was giving it right back to him.   
“Interesting name for an interesting person.”

She snorted and stepped around him. “Tone it down; you’re way too old for me.”

Neal flinched as he remembered she would only be about nineteen at this point. He was in his mid thirties and that was just weird. But he couldn’t deny that she was attractive, beyond attractive in fact, she was damn near flawless. Not only was she physically beautiful, but she was intelligent and clever. Neal’s mind flashed to Sara, who was beginning to hint at something more in their relationship. He guessed he had a type.

“So,” he continued. “Did you come here for a reason?”

She crossed her arms and smiled at him. She seemed to do that a lot.

“I just came here to size up the competition, of course.”

“Competition?”

Tate laughed and nodded, her laugh was like music. Her eyes lit up and her smile was bright and young. It was the smile of someone innocent.

“Yeah,” she began. “I figure you and your FBI friends are going to be coming after me now, especially since you know what I look like. And I also figure you’re my biggest threat, so if I know you, I know what to avoid.”

Neal shook his head, and his heart began to pound. This young girl was putting herself in the way of a lot of hurt. She didn’t know how hard it was to hide, and how you could never go back once you started. Neal saw himself in her.

“Don’t try to change my mind,” she seemingly read something on his face. “I know what’s best for me.”

Neal knew it would be futile to try and change her mind. He recognized the conviction in her face, the passion in her eyes, and the strength in her voice. She wouldn’t hear anything he said to her, so Neal didn’t even bother.

“For the record,” he felt like he could say this much. “It’s not me that you have to worry about. It’s Peter. He won’t stop until he catches you. Trust me, I know.” He lifted the leg of his pants, showing off his tracking device.

She nodded, her face somber once again.

Neal forced a smile back onto his face, tired of the seriousness.

“So, you want a drink? I won’t give you any wine, but I’m sure I have something else,” he turned away, facing the kitchen and looking inside of the fridge, but when he turned back Tate was gone.

Again, he wasn’t surprised, but he knew what he had to do.

He picked up his phone to call Peter.


	4. Little Tatie

“You seem distracted,” Sara rested her hand on top of Neal’s. They were at a cafe having breakfast together. Her omelette was nearly gone while he had barely taken a bite out of his eggs Benedict. “Something going on at work?”

“We have a really interesting case right now,” he smiled a little. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Please share,” Sara smiled and Neal was once again reminded why he liked her. She was intelligent and kindhearted. When she inquired into his life, she genuinely cared to listen about the things he had to say. The first time they met, there was electricity. Even Sara couldn’t deny that. Now, he didn’t really know where their relationship stood. He was waiting for Sara to take it to the next level.

“There’s this young girl, only about nineteen, and she’s already stolen two paintings,” he shook his head. “I came face to face with her the other night before she knocked me out. She’s really brilliant.”

“Knocked you out?” Sara sounded caught off guard before regaining her composure. “Peter hasn’t caught up to her yet?”

“Nope,” he took a bite of his breakfast. “She’s gotten away both times.”

“Wow,” Sara leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “She MUST be brilliant, then.”

Neal smiled, pushing the food around on his plate. He thought of red hair and brown eyes. He thought of a wide smile and musical laughter.

“I can see she’s caught your attention,” Sara’s eyebrow was arched and she was looking at Neal as if she knew what he was thinking.

“It’s not like that,” he chuckled. “She kind of reminds me of me.”

“Uh huh,” Sara smiled. “Finish your food. We both have to go to work.”

.O.

When Neal got to the office that day, Peter was waiting for him at his desk.

“I think I know where she’s going to strike next,” he said as Neal approached him.

“Oh? And how’d you figure that out.”

“Think about it,” Peter was smiling that crooked smile he got when he was onto something. Neal lived for that look. “What kind of paintings has she taken so far?”

“They’ve all been done by women if that’s what you mean?”

“Yes, but that’s not all. They’ve all been done by marginalized women. Del Campeso was Mexican and McCandless was a disabled woman.”

“Shit...”

“Exactly,” Peter’s hand slammed on the desk. “And what’s the next big exhibit opening that would fit perfectly into that category?”

The ‘Women of the Harlem Renaissance’ exhibit flashed through Neal’s mind. It was opening at a small and fairly new art gallery in Harlem, but it was causing quite a bit of excitement. A painting done by Della Delong, a young woman that rose to fame during the Harlem Renaissance (and one of the very few to maintain her fame afterwards) was to be the main exhibit. The painting featured a young black mother wearing a white gown and holding a small child. Behind the woman, a lynching was happening. The picture gained notoriety for its bold portrayal of the reality of black America, while also portraying a black mother as a Madonna figure rather than a Jezebel or a Mammy.

“You better get a perimeter set up,” Neal ran a hand through his hair. “This girl means business.”

“Already done,” Peter smirked. “When the time comes, I want you to figure which way she plans to come in and which way she plans to leave. For now, I need you to try to get more information on her background. I’ll give you everything we have and you can go from there. Berrigan will go with you.”

“Sounds good.”

.O.

“So where are we headed to first?” Neal asked Diana as they turned onto a wide road. They were about two hours outside of the city.

“We’re going to the police department in the area Pantyhose lived when she was a kid,” her eyes were on the road, and she occasionally glanced down at her GPS. “It was close to the agency that managed her case.”

Neal nodded and gazed out of the window, thinking about the young girl. He wished he could have met her before this. Now she has the FBI on her back and she’s not even old enough to drink. It was sad. He stayed lost in his thoughts until they pulled up to the police department. It was small, and surrounded by a bunch of run down houses. In fact, the whole town was small. It seemed almost like a different universe to him out here.

When inside, Diana went off in her own direction, leaving Neal to look around. It was a standard police station. There wasn’t much here for him to look at, so he waiting in place until Diana called him back to a separate room.

“This is Officer Gerald Asher. He handled Ms. Rose’s case.,” she gestured to a portly man in a button down white shirt.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Neal shook the man’s hand. “So what can you tell us about Tate?”

“Honestly,” Gerald shook his head. “I don’t understand what Little Tatie could’ve done to get into so much trouble. She’s a sweetheart, always has been.”

“Little Tatie?” Diana was confused.

“Yeah,” Gerald shrugs. “She stays just a couple of streets down with Mrs. McDougal. She’s been with her for roundabout six years.”

“And why didn’t you let us know this sooner?” Diana was already dialing Peter’s number.

“How the hell was I supposed to know you were looking for her? Nobody keeps this hellhole of a town in on anything.”

Neal was shaking his head, shocked at the turn of events. Would Peter Pantyhose really be caught this easily?

“Why is she with this Mrs. McDougal?” Neal asked the officer.

“There was a lot of mismanagement when the local agency closed. It just...happened.”

Neal thought about a scared young girl. He thought about the group of scared young children from the foster/adoption agency. His face heated up as he became overwhelmed with anger.

“And you, the police, didn’t think to do anything about it?”

“We barely have enough funding to write a goddamn parking ticket. Besides, Tate has been in good hands for years.”

Neal was about to retort when Diana touched his arm.

“Peter’s on his way. Let’s get to Mrs. McDougal’s house fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back after like...two years of not writing a chapter

**Author's Note:**

> I just started watching White Collar, and I'm just really feeling it. I had to write something.


End file.
